I furtively went up to my room and closed the door. I walked up to my mirror to examine the damage that had been done to my neck.

It looked swollen, and not to mention, just flat out disgusting. My lips pulled into a frown.

I brushed my hair out. The strawberry colored hair covered nicely over the wound. As long as I didn't wear it up, no one would suspect anything. I let out a breath.

"I'll get through this," I whispered to myself.

"Holy shit, Chica, you're in for some serious hell!"

Gomez's words resonated in my mind. Serious hell? What is that even supposed to mean?

I knew he was going to harass me. I knew he was going to stalk me. These were obvious. But, if Gomez had said it, what could possibly be worse than what I had been through tonight? And what I had already been going through? Was that not hell enough for him?

The full moon's light leaked in through my white, flowing curtains, resembling ghosts. The wind blew, making them gracefully flutter.

I looked to the note Luther had given me that was sitting on my desk, and I thought back to the flowers. They had so much more meaning to them now. They were symbolic now, and not just crusty old roses. The roses were me, and they represented what Luther could do to me. I shuddered.

When would this torture end?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Wake up sweat heart, it's time to go to church," my mother whispered as she shook me awake.

My eyes snapped open, and I shot up, making sure that the hair still covered up the wound.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You slept all day yesterday and all through the night!"

I looked around drearily. I could feel the marks throbbing, meaning that last night wasn't a dream. My eyebrows curled up.

"Yeah," I said, flipping the covers off of me. "I'm fine."

"Well, get ready, we leave in thirty minutes."

She stepped out of my room and closed the door behind her. The note still remained on the desk. I thought it best to keep it out of sight. I stuck it into one of the desk's drawers.

Searching my closet, still trying to open my eyes wide enough, I grabbed a loose, light purple sweater and a white, wool skirt. After putting them on, I slipped on a pair of white vans and brushed my hair and teeth.

The whole morning, I felt disgusting and guilty. I should never had gone to Luther's. What was I thinking? Why had I listen to Gomez? I don't even know the man! He could be Luther's ally, and just pretending to help me, for all I know.

I stared down at my Cheerios. My mom closed the fridge and leaned against the counter towards me. I lifted my eyes to meet hers.

"What's the matter, sweat heart?"

I shrugged. There was no way that I was telling her the truth.

"I don't know," I lied. "Just, moving and everything. It's just a little traumatic."

She pursed her lips sympathetically. "I know how you feel," she said. "We used to move a lot when I was little too, ya know."

I nodded and stared back down at my Cheerios. If we kept talking about this, she would know that I was lying, for I wasn't having any issues with the move. In fact, it was a nice change. Well, all except for Luther...

"Hurry up and eat," she said, slapping her hand down playfully. I jumped at the sudden excitement. "I want to get there early."

I nodded and lethargically finished my cereal.

We drove to church and sat through the hour and a half service. After words, we walked up to my uncle and commended him on what a good job he did.

"Great job, Micheal," my mom said, giving him a hug.

"Thanks little sis," he said, hugging her back. He was about five years older than her, and his hair was beginning to grey. His demeanor was rather large, and he had a massive amount of muscle. If I didn't know better, I'd say that he was a wrestler rather than a priest.

"Hey, kiddo!" he exclaimed, pulling me into his arms. "How's my Ava Flava?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine..."

"You don't look fine," he said, examining my face. "What's this?" he asked, pointing underneath my eyes. "You look like quite the zombie."

I rolled my eyes again. "I'm just a little tired."

"And I wouldn't know why!" My mother exclaimed. "She slept for like, 15 hours yesterday!"

My uncle raised his eyebrows. "Crieky, kid! You sleep more than a sloth."

I laughed out of embarrassment. Uncle Michael leaned down to my height and pointed to a boy across the church.

"That boy has been looking at you the entire service," he pointed out. The boy looked over to me. I swatted his hand away. He laughed heartily at me.

The boy's eyes were brown and innocent, his hair was like spun gold, and his skin was pale and acne-free. I gave him a small side smile, with which he returned. I swooned inside. He was gorgeous, I'll admit.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"His name is Nate," he answered. "He's a great kid. Have you seen him around school?"

I shook my head. "No..." I said airily. "But I think I'm going to start to..."

My mom and uncle laughed. I looked back over to him. He was walking across the church and over to me.

"Crap, he's coming to talk to me," I said to my mom. "What do I do? I don't know what to do."

"Honey, relax. Just act like yourself."

I don't know who I am anymore.

I turned to face the boy who had come to talk to me.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi..." I said, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Are you new here?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, I just moved here about a week ago."

He nodded. "Cool." He extended his hand. "I'm Nate, by the way."

I shook his hand. "I'm Ava. Ava Lane."

"It's nice to meet you, Ava." He smiled at me.

"You too."

I looked over my shoulder at my mother. "Do you mind if I...?"

She shook her head. "Go on ahead."

I smiled and walked off with Nate. We walked outside and sat in the grass while people filed out of the church and walked to their cars.

"So, why'd you move here?" he asked me.

"Many reasons," I replied. "My mother's floral shop wasn't doing so good where we were living because the town was so freakishly tiny. But here, it's the perfect size of a city, and business is much better I guess. That's the main reason."

He nodded. "We moved here a few years ago too. There was a huge drug problem where we used to live, so we moved here, even though it's not much better!"

I laughed. "Tell me about it. I ran into some South American guy yesterday on the street, and these orange envelopes went flying. When I helped him pick them up, it was so obvious that there was weed inside them."

He laughed, his Adam's apple bobbing. This boy was really quite attractive. My heart fluttered.

"So, uh...what happened to your neck?" he asked.

My heart stopped as I brought a hand to it. I didn't even realize that the wind had blown it away from my neck. I close my eyes and let out a groan.

"It's...not what you think..."

He lifted a brow. "Enlighten me, then."

I leaned my head back. "It's just...the boy across the street from me," I answered. "He's really harassing me, and it's getting a little out of hand..."

"Who is it?" he asked.

"You'll find out soon enough."

He nodded. "At least it's not that freaky kid."

I cocked my head. "What freaky kid?"

"You know," he replied. "The grim reaper. Luther."

My eyes suddenly widened. "Yeah..." I replied. "At least it's not him..."

"That guy scares the hell out of me. People say that he has murdered people. And that he worships Satan. And he does meth-"

"I wouldn't say all that," I interrupted. Why was I defending him? He tried to rape me! Twice! I should be the last person in the world to defend him! But I continued on. "I do believe he is capable of many things. But...he's got like, autism and I'm pretty sure he's slightly psycho."

He lifted a brow. "Slightly? That guy is freakin' deranged! Have you seen some of the stuff that he draws?"

I shook my head slowly. "No...why?"

"He's draws pentagons, and burning crosses, and Satan raping the Virgin Mary. It's revolting!"

"How do you know this?"

"I sit next to him in English. He doesn't do school work. He just draws all through class. He doesn't even smell like a human. He reeks of death."

I looked away. "Trust me, I know," I wanted to say, but didn't. I couldn't bring myself to insult him.

Luther is just misunderstood. He just wants someone to see something from his point of view.

Damn, I thought. I guess I am different.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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